


Freedom Is Hard

by Tessandria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Master Dean, Master Dean Winchester, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Slave Original Female Character, Slave Owner Dean, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-02 09:29:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tessandria/pseuds/Tessandria
Summary: When Layla is purchased by Dean Winchester she has no idea what to expect, but whatever guess she had, it was certainly not this.





	1. Chapter 1

I didn’t know who had bought me, not for certain. It was a man. That was all I had gleaned, there was no way that deep, resonating voice belonged to anything but a man. But at this point, I didn’t care.  
I knelt there, the cold, rough cement cutting to my knees as the goosebumps stood out on my arms and legs. The thin fabric of the mini skirt and crop top I had been given did nothing to ward of the chill. The cold metal cuffs fastening my hands securely in front of me and the similar pair linking my ankles only cemented the cold. My legs were stiff from so long spent on my knees, but it was a minor pain, far outweighed by the others. I worked at the gag in my mouth in an attempt to distract myself from the fear rising in me as I waited in silence for my unknown Master to come for me.  
I could probably spit it out, the filthy length of cloth was poorly fastened and I had wriggled my way out of far worse. But with the booted feet of the guard right next to me, it wouldn’t do any good. And it would only serve to anger me, new Master. Just now, I couldn’t afford to do that. I needed this Master. I need his protection. So ignored the chill, the burning ache in my legs, the pull of my neck and shoulders, and I stayed motionless. Eyes trained on the floor, head bowed.  
The picture of humble submission.

Hearing the door open, I started to raise my head, only to have it pushed back down by the firm had of the guard. More like slapped down, but whatever. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had worse. I lowered my head and bit my lip. A second pair of boots moved into my field of vision. I closed my eyes, focusing on my heartbeat. The steady thud drowning out the voices of the guard and my new Master conversing. I kept one ear half open, listening for anything that might be directed at me.

At last, the guard turned away, I heard the door swing shut behind him and a deep silence settled over the room.

My Master sighed.

I flinched.

“Finally,” He muttered under his breath.

His voice wasn’t what I had expected. I knew it from the shouting din of the platform where it had called out higher and higher bids till the others had all fallen silent, but somehow it was different now. Alone in the quiet of the room, he sounded tired. Both young and old at the same time. The voice made me curious, and I wanted to look up at him. I held back. I would wait until I had permission. I would be as good as I knew how, at least until we were away from this cursed place.

My Master crouched next to me.

“Okay, so I’m gonna have to leave these on you till we get out of here ‘kay?”

I need. Some sort of acknowledgment was required, but the gag prevented me from speaking so I settled for the gesture.

He hand closed on my elbow and he pulled me to my feet. Biting my cheek to keep from flinching away from him, I kept my head bowed as I stood before him.

“Follow me.” He grunted and turned away, heading for what must be the way out.

I followed obediently, careful to keep the perfect distance, two steps behind him and one to the left. We moved swiftly down the hallway, My Master in a quick walk and me in a shuffling run, the steady clink of my chains seemed jarring in the silence. It wasn’t long before we left the building. Outside darkness had fallen, a chill was rising from the ground and the crisp fall air chilled me to the bone as hurried along behind my Master, my scantily clad form seeming strangely out of place in this world beyond the auction house.

He led me across the parking lot to an old black car, its silver trim glowing in the moonlight. He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in. I looked at the car for a moment, trying to formulate a plan to enter the car with my limbs shackled. My Master seemed irritated and taking my arm he half pushed, half guided me into the seat. I allowed the touch without protest, bearing down on my cheek till the coppery taste of blood accompanied the foul taste of the gag. Slipping into the other side of the car, he pulled away and the auction house disappeared into the darkness behind us.

For a long time, my Master didn’t speak. The car was silent as I sat motionless exactly where he had put me, my eyes still fixed on my feet and the worn heels that I wore.  
We drove for several minutes, I wasn’t sure how long it was, could have been for hours, before he turned into the parking lot of a motel. He must have come to town for the auction. That was bad. He must have been planning this for some time. And that was never good.

I chewed on my cheek.

My Master stepped out of the car and came around to open the door. This time I was ready and scrambled awkwardly out of the car, nearly stumbling into him. He took my elbow and we hurried across the lot. In a moments time we were out of the cold night air and in the motel room, the door fell shut behind me, encasing me a room filled with warm air, soft yellow light, and a sense of impending doom.

I dropped to my knees, bowed my head, and took a deep calming breath. I knew what was expected of me, and I would swallow and any tiny shred of pride I might have left and do it. Because being this man’s slave was better than the alternative.

I would be a good slave.


	2. Chapter 2

I waited there on my knees, my still bowed. Although my knees protested the position, I couldn’t help but revel in the softness of the worn carpet on which I knelt. I was careful to keep my face blank, as I clasped my hands in my lap and waited silently.

Ignoring my bent form, my Master walked past me and collapsed on the bed. For a moment, I hesitated then I looked up slightly. Peering past the curtain of lank, greasy hair that hung before my eyes, I saw my Master sprawled on the bed. From my angle, I still couldn't see his face, just the top of his head where it rested against the covers. 

Suddenly the silence was shattered by the harsh ringing of a phone. I jumped at the noise, my Master pulled the phone from his pocked and put it to his ear, pushing himself up into a sitting position so that his back was to me.

“Yeah.” He sounded tired, and irritated.

I worried my lip, this wasn’t good. He was mad, had I done something? And in so little time. I was failing, my could feel my heart begin to pound. I couldn't fail. I couldn't. Not this time. I need to sucked. My life depended on it. I had to make it up to him. Somehow I had to show him I was good. I could be good. I would be good. I just needed a chance.

My Master spoke again.

“Yeah, okay. No I’m back at the room. Yeah. Yep, get some grub while you’re at it. Yeah. And pie. Don’t forget the pie.”

I listened carefully to the one sided conversation, searching every word for some sort of clue as to what my Master was like, but finding none.

“Yeah.” He said again, sitting up he held the phone in one had while the other pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Right then. Bitch.” The word sounded strange somehow. Not like the slur I had heard so often. It sounded almost affectionate. He grinned and hung up letting the phone fall from his fingers to land on the bedspread beside him.

I watched as he drew a hand over his face, his shoulders slump and weary in the dim light of the lamp. Finally he stood, I ducked my head, it wouldn’t do to get caught looking when I hadn’t been allowed too. I was supposed to be being good.

“What are you doing?”

The question surprised me, I would have thought it was obvious. I was waiting. Patiently. Quietly. Like a good slave. What did he mean? Was he mad? Did I mess up again? I didn’t answer, not sure what I could say that wouldn’t make whatever I had done worse. It was better to just wait for the punishment.

He moved around the bed an approached me. I bit down on my lip again, the gag still in my mouth, and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the pain. It didn’t come. Instead I felt a hand pulling the gag from my mouth. I signed in relief and licked my lips, ignoring the sting where I had bit the tender flesh open.

“What are you doing?”

I worried my lip. It was bleeding steadily now, the pain a familiar presence. It was my choice in it was a twisted comfort. He had repeated the question. He wanted and answer and I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t good, I licked at my lips, the bitter taste of my own blood prominent in the mixture of blood, sweat, tears, and dust that coated my face.

“Waiting, Master.” I said softly, carefully keeping the perfect volume and subservient tone. Soft enough that it wasn’t threatening while still being easy to hear.

“Master? No, don’t call me that.” He said stepping back, moving out of my field of vision.

He was mad again. I just kept messing up. Grinding my teeth I spoke again. “I’m sorry, Sir. Please forgive me, I won’t do it again, Sir.”

“What? No, I’m not...it’s not...I...” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, trailing off and leaving me to imagine all sorts of terrible things he was considering doing to me.

One thing I had learned from that was he was till mad. He wanted more then my apology and my promise to do better. He wanted to take it out of me somehow. I hunched in on myself, trying to seem small. Frail and week, not worth the effort of beating up.

“I’m sorry Ma-Sir. I’m so sorry, Sir. Plea-please punish me.”

It hurt to force out those last few words, but I swallowed my pride and ground them out. I needed him to want me. I needed him to see that I could be good. I would be good.

Several long moments of silence stretched threateningly above me as I waiting hoping for the stinging sensation of pain. Of a punishment that would wipe the slate clean and five me another chance to be good. To make him want me.

But just like before, there was no pain. No forgiveness. Instead I felt a gentle weight on the back of my head for a moment and as I watched, my Master bent down. Crouching before me and putting himself on the same level as me.

“Can you sit up?” He asked then after a moment, “Please?”

For a moment I could move. Please? He had said please. What did that mean?

I sat up slowly, straightening from where I had hunched over and spreading my bound hands so that one rested on each thigh. I kept my head bent, grateful for the hair hiding my face from his view as I stared at the carpet next to his knee.

“Can you look at me, please?”

Another please. I wasn’t sure what those meant, at least not in terms of me, but I did what he asked and raised my reluctant gaze till I was looking at his shoulder. I was careful to leave my hair between my face and him. If I was what I had done to my lip, he would probably be mad. I was starting to understand him. He was tempting me. He didn’t want to punish me. He wanted me to love him. Or at least fake it. He didn’t want a bed slave to use and abuse, he wanted a pet. He want me to be his pet.

Bile rose in m throat, but I swallowed it back down. This was better. Being his pet was better then dying. And I knew that if he sent me back, what awaited me was worse then death. I could do this. I could be his pet. I had to do this.

“I...I’m Dean.” He said.

Not sure what I was supposed to say, I just remained silent.

“What’s your name?” He asked as it became clear I wasn’t going to reply to his previous statement.

“What ever Master wishes.” I murmured instantly, for once I knew what to say.

But my answer was greeted with an irritated sigh.

Shit.

I had called him Master. He had just told me not to and I did anyway. Instantly I folded over on myself, pressing my forehead to the floor.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Sir! Please, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise, I’m sorry!” I begged shamelessly.

Already! I had screwed up again! What was I, stupid? Did I want to die? I folded my hands into my hair and began to pull on it in frustration. Once again, the self inflicted pain providing a twisted comfort.

“Stop! Stop that.”

Hands closed on my wrists and I heard the reprimanding tone in my Master's voice. I stopped, stiffening in his grip.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” He was saying. “Do you have a real name?”

“Yes, Sir.” I said hesitantly.

“Great.” He said, relieved. “What’s your name?”

“La-” I choked on the word.

It had been so long since I had used it. And the last Master who had...I didn’t want to think about him.

“Layla, Sir. My name is Layla.”


	4. Chapter 3

“Layla.” My Master repeated.

 

My name sounded strange on his tongue.

 

“That’s an interesting name.”

 

What did that mean? Did he not like my name?

 

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

 

“What?” He said, confused.

 

I bit my lip again, not sure what to say. If only he was more clear.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir?” I repeated.

 

“What? What are you sorry for?”

 

The confusion was still there, and if he didn’t know what he was talking about, how the hell was I supposed to know? Still picking at my lips, I searched for words.

 

“I’m sorry about my name, Sir. Did you want to change it?”

 

My Master just stared at me, shaking his head. “Why?”

 

Dammit! If he had to ask so many questions, why couldn’t he pick ones I knew the answers too! Maybe he was trying to make me fail? Dammit….was he trying to make me fail? I qorried my lip again. Maybe he was. What did I do then?

 

“Because its weird, Master?” I offered.

 

There was a moment of silence before I realized what I had done. Again. I started, snapping up, a look of horror stamped on my face. Three times in a row! I really was an idiot, calling him Master three times against his direct instruction. I shuffled forward on my knees, my hands coming up to grasp at the tail of his shirt while I pressed my forehead to the floor between his feet.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir! I’m sorry, please. I promise, please, please, I’ll be good! I’ll be better, please, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Never ever ever, please, please, Sir! Please, I’m sorry!”

 

The stream of pleas fell from my lips I was begging, pleasing shamelessly and just the thought of it made my stomach churn, but I couldn’t help it. So I begged.

 

His hands caught him, his warm and calloused. Mine, cold, bruised, and shaking in fear. With gentle fingers he tried to remove my fingers from the material of his shirt. I should have let go. I should have let him move my hands, should have let him do anything. But I couldn’t my fingers wouldn’t listen. Instead, they curled tighter into the material as my pleas dissolved into wordless sobs.

 

My Master crouched there in front of me as I curled my arms closer, pulling the hem of his shirt to my face and hiding in it. Hiding my tears as I continued to sob loudly. I felt a hand in my hair, but was to wound up on fear even to flinch away from the touch. I just huddled there, crying letting my Master stroke my head as he murmured soothing phrases until I was finally able to bring my panicked sobs down to an occasional whimper. I still couldn't seem to let go of the shirt.

 

“You okay, Layla?”

 

I opened my mouth to speak, to answer, to be good. But the only sound that came out was another whimper.

 

“Shhh...it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here, you’re okay, Layla.” He said, still stroking my head.

 

“I-I’m sorry.” I whimper between the hitches in my breath. “Please, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” The soothing voice said again. “It’s all okay.”

 

“It’s okay?” I sniffled in to his shirt.

 

“Yeah, it’s all okay.” He said that hand still in my hair and damn it shouldn’t have felt that good.

 

It took me a moment, but I was finally able to uncurl my finger and pull them back to my lap. I still laid forward against my thighs, leaning back down to rest my head on the floor I shuddered, suppressing another sob and lay there, my forehead resting on the carpet next to my Master’s knee.

 

“You okay?” He asked.

 

The hand left my hair and I cursed myself for missing it.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Came the soft reply.

 

“Good. Can you...can you sit up, Layla?”

 

I pushed myself up. My back straight, palms spread on my thighs, head bowed, and waited. My knees still hurt and the cold that had settled in me at the auction house was still present. My eyes where fuggy from crying and my head was pounding. I sat motionless, blood drying on my lip and tear tracks tracing lines through the filth on my face. My Master, no Sir, crouched on the floor in front of me.

 

“I’m Dean.” He repeated.

 

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Um, you don’t have to call me “sir”, Layla.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I mean, I….yes...” I trailed off.

 

What on earth was I supposed to call him? If Master and Sir were both off the table, I was running out of options. What the hell was I supposed to do?

 

“Just call me Dean.” He supplied, sensing my uncertainty.

 

I opened my mouth and tried to answer. But I couldn’t do it. It couldn’t address my Master by his given name. It wasn’t allowed. I could hear the crack of the trainer’s whip and feel it’s phantom burn in my shoulders. Such an act of disrespect had never ended well. I nodded instead, fixing my eyes back on the ground and hiding my face.

 

There was a long moment of painful silence then my Master, no….De-...Mr. Dean stood.

 

“Would you like a shower, Layla?” He asked.

 

Always with the question. So many question I didn’t know how to answer. What was I supposed to do? Why couldn’t he just tell me what to do? I hesitated a moment, then, remembering that Mr. Dean liked me to answer him verbally, I spoke.

 

“Whatever Mr. Dean wishes.” I said, wincing at the casual address.

 

I was fairly certain he wouldn’t really like the answer, but I didn’t know what else to say. Mr. Dean sighed and turned toward on of the beds.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes I guess.” I heard him mutter as he began rummaging through on of the bags.

 

I watch from behind my hair as he pulled a few garments out before turning back to me. I ducked my head quickly. A slave does not look at their betters with out permission.

 

“Do-can you stand up for me. Please?” Mr. Dean said and there were those please’s again.

 

I stood swiftly, keeping my eyes down and hiding my damaged lip. Mr. Dean was bound to be angry if he saw the many small tares in the sensitive flesh of my lip. If he didn’t like me pulling my hair, this would be even worse.

 

Mr. Dean started for the bathroom and after a moment, I followed, cautiously moving a few steps behind him. He opened the door and stepped inside, setting a bundle of clothing he had pulled from his bag on the sink and jerking back the shower curtain.

 

 

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. My heart was pounding and I had to work to keep my breathing even. I didn’t think Mr. Dean would like if if I showed how much he scared me. I stood there silently, just inside the door and watched as he turned on the water and carefully adjusted the temperature, testing it with one hand. I watched all this in measured silence, still focusing on breathing deeply and evenly.

 

After minute or two, Mr. Dean must have been satisfied with the temperature and, drying his hand on his shirt, he turned to me.

 

“Go ahead.” He said gesturing at the water then stopped, noticing the chain’s still encircling my wrists and ankles. “Oh, right.”

 

It took him only a few moments to remove the chains. As the cold metal fell away, I felt some of the tension bleed out of me and resisted the urge to rub at the marks they had left in my skin. I let them hang at my sides and waited for instructions.

 

“Alright,” Mr. Dean said, dusting off his hands and kicking the chains into a corner. “Now go ahead. I got you some clothes. They’re mine so they’ll be pretty big, but I figured anything would be better then….” He gestured vaguely at my scantily clad form.

 

I schooled my face into a blank expression as my hands went to my waist, preparing to strip for him.

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

 

He nodded and I took a deep breath, beginning to slip my skirt down only to have Mr. Dean throw up a hand, covering his eyes.

 

“Whoa! Whoa! Hang on a second! Wait till I leave!”  


I quickly yanked my skirt back up, “I’m sorry, Ma-Mr. Dean.” I said, tripping over the words in my haste.

 

“Right.” He swallowed, turning quickly toward the door as if he expected me to start stripping again any second. “Take your time. I’ll just...be out there.

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

 

With one final nod, he disappeared through the door, shutting it firmly behind him. I stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where he had stood. Then I shook myself. My Master had given me and order. I need to shower, and I didn’t know how long I had. I had better get started.

 

The warm water was a luxury I hadn’t experience in months. And the last time I was far to occupied with my former owner to properly enjoy the warmth. I shed the filthy tatters from the auction and hesitantly stepped under the water. The soothing liquid pounded lightly on my shoulders, and I took several deep breaths, relaxing slightly before I remember that my Master was waiting in the other room. Quickly, I scrubbed myself down with the motel soap.

 

It took much longer then I had expected to wash my hair well enough for the water to run clear through it. I could still feel that it was greasy, but I had already spent so long. It wouldn't do to keep my Master waiting. I stepped out of the water and toweled of quickly, wringing to worst of the water out of my hair before moving over to the sink where my Master-Mr. Dean, I need to stop calling him Master in my head. Where Mr. Dean had left the pile of clothes. There was a black t-shirt, the material well worn and soft to the touch. Then a pair of gray sweatpants and a pair of socks. And lying on top of the stack was a flannel shirt like the one Mr. Dean wore. I stared at the heap of clothes for a moment the slipped quickly into the garments, half afraid the door would be opened at any moment and the precious clothes would be stripped away.

 

Mr. Dean had been right about one thing, everything was far to big for me. I had to roll up the pants several times and the shirt sleeves hung several inches past my hands. But I liked the excess of cloth, it was so different from what I was used too and I found myself huddling into the warm fabric.

 

Taking one last look int eh mirror to make sure I had gotten all the dirt off my face, I shook my hair in front of my face to hid my eyes and carefully opened the door.

 

“I’m finished, Mr. Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, you might as well go ahead and comment. :D :D


	5. Chapter 4

Mr. Dean was sitting on one of the beds, a laptop open on his lap. He looked up when I spoke, and I curled into myself under his gaze.

 

“Hi.” He said, staring at me for a moment before clearing his throat and setting it aside on the nightstand.

 

He stood and moved toward me, rubbing his hands on his pants, a gesture I wasn’t quite sure what to make of. I fought to keep from stepping back as he neared me.

 

“I told you they’ed be big.” He said, huffing a laugh and gesturing at the clothing hanging off my tiny frame.

 

I glanced down. “Yes, Mr. Dean,” I said softly, hoping he wasn’t about to take them away.

 

He cleared his throat again and shifted his weight, the rustling scrape of his jeans seemed loud in the otherwise silent room. I clench my teeth and held still. Mr. Dean was my Master and he didn’t like it when I was scared of him. So I need to not be scared. Or at least to make him think I wasn’t scared.

 

“So...um...” He fumbled for words, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I, uh, I thought...that is...are you hungry?”

 

Another moment of hesitation on my part. I knew what I was supposed to say. What my other owners had wanted me to say. But Mr. Dean was different. I didn’t think that he wanted me to lie. So after a moment of silence, I dug my fingernails into my palm and spoke.

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

 

Mr. Dean nodded, turning toward the door. “Great, there’s a diner. Just a few blocks from here. I’ll, uh, I’ll get us some grub.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

 

He reached behind himself opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

 

“Right then. Just, ah, make yourself comfortable.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean.”

 

He nodded one last time and disappeared through the door. I heard the car starting in the parking lot and listened to the soothing hum as it pulled away. He was gone. He had left me alone.

 

For several minutes, I just stood there. This had to be some sort of test. But what on earth did he want me to do? Make yourself comfortable. What did that mean? I looked around the room, taking in the bags thrown carelessly on the floor their contents spilling out. The unmade beds, the table covered in empty takeout boxes, and the books thrown haphazardly on the chairs. I nodded to myself. I knew what to do.

 

Going straight to work, I wasted no time, starting with the mess on the table. Removing the takeout and throwing it away, I wiped down the table and carefully placed the books in neat stacks on the freshly scrubbed surface. Then I moved on to the beds, straightening the sheets and plumping the pillows. Finally, knelt down and turned to the bags.

 

Mr. Dean’s was on the floor near one of the beds, clothes spilling out across the worn carpet. I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure Mr. Dean would want me digging through his bag, but leaving his clothing on the floor was definitely not an option. After a moment of deliberation, I just folded the clothing on the floor and cautiously tucked it back into the bag.

 

I had just folded the last piece and was tucking it in next to a pair of jeans when I saw it. A knife. Thick blade with a heavy handle and a polished blade. It was sharp, razor sharp I was sure. My heart skipped a beat and I swallowed hard, shoving the shirt in and quickly zipping the bag closed, my hands slightly.

 

Leaving the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed, I moved to kneel between the two beds with my back to the wall. I folded my hands in my lap and bowed my head. With my eyes closed, I focused on taking deep, even breaths as I emptied my mind and just relaxed.

 

So Mr. Dean had a knife. A big, sharp, terrifying knife, but I didn’t know why yet. Lots of people had knives. Stabby, torturing knives. I swallowed and squeezed my eye shut, breathing in an out heavily.

 

I was so focused on relaxing that I didn't notice the door had opened until the click of a gun cocking cut through my consciousness. My eyes snapped open and my gaze fixed on a pair of booted feet directly in front of me.

 

"Who are you?" The owner of the boots said.

 

I bowed my head farther and tucked my shoulders in, trying to make myself seem even smaller.

 

"I'm Mr. Dean's slave, sir." I murmured softly, concentrating on the submissive tone.

 

"Mr. Dean? Slave!" The voice spoke again, clearly shocked by my statement.

 

"Yes, sir," I replied then bit my tongue.

 

Just because Mr. Dean wanted me to talk didn't mean this man did. I needed to remember my training.

 

"Slave." The voice repeated. "You're Dean's slave?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

There was a tense moment of silence. Then the feet moved towards me. I flinched away, cowering away from the stranger.

 

"Hey, hey." He said, crouching to my level. "I'm not gonna hurt you." He said softly as if I was a frightened animal. Which honestly wasn't that far off the mark.

 

"It's okay." He continued. "Everything's okay. Can you look at me?"

 

I hesitated only a moment before raising my head glancing at him through my damp hair. He looked like Mr. Dean. He had the same build, probably a little taller, but I could tell at a glance that they were related. The similarities were subtle but definitely there. Maybe cousins or brothers. He had the same sad, weary eyes. And the gentle smile on his lips looked just like Mr. Dean's. For some reason, I found that comforting and relaxed slightly.

 

"Do you have a name?" He said gently.

 

"Yes, sir. My name is Layla, sir." I said directing my gaze at his knee.

 

"It's nice to meet you, Layla." He said. "My name's Sam. I'm Dean's brother."

 

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

 

"You don't have to call me "sir", Layla. Do you know where Dean is?"

 

"Yes, Mr. Sam. Mr. Dean is at a diner, Mr. Sam." I answered, addressing him in much the same fashion

as I had Mr. Dean.

 

"Just call me "Sam", Layla." Mr. Sam said. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

 

I bit my lip. "No...S-sam. Mr. Dean didn't say, Sam." I ducked my head again, drawing blood from my lip as I fought against the rising panic.

 

There was a moment of silence, then Mr. Sam reached out a hand towards me and I flinched away. Mr. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, we were interrupted.

 

“Dinner is served!" Mr. Dean called cheerfully, dropping a brown paper bag from which wafted the most amazing scents. He quickly stripped off his jacket and dropped it on the bed before turning to face me and Mr. Sam.

 

"Ah. Sam," he said.

 

Sam stood. "What the hell is going on here Dean?"

 

"It's not what it looks like." Mr. Dean said, raising his hands defensively.

 

"Oh? So you're telling me you didn't just buy a slave? Cause that's sure as hell what it looks like!" Sam snapped, folding his arms across his chest and glaring angrily at his brother.

 

"No!'

 

"Oh really? Cause Layla here says something different." He growled angrily, jerking his head at me.

 

I ducked my head and bit down hard on my lip. Now I was going to get in trouble. There was no way Mr. Dean wouldn't punish me after he knew that I was the reason Mr. Sam was mad at him. After he knew I had told Mr. Sam I was his slave. It didn't matter that he had never told me not to. It was my job to know what he wanted. I was so screwed. I would be lucky if he didn't sell me.

 

"It's not that simple Sam!" Mr. Dean shot back, unaware of the thoughts flying through my mind.

 

"Oh isn't it Dean? Cause it seems pretty damn simple to me!"

 

This was bad. Mr. Sam wanted me gone. He didn't want me. He was going to make Mr. Dean sell me. I had to stop him. I had to make him want me. I needed to show him I could be good.

 

"Goddammit, Sam! I was trying to help her!" Mr. Dean was saying.

 

"Help her? You call this helping her!"

 

"Yes!"

 

"She's slave Dean! Your slave. You bought a person!"

 

Someone was begging. I could hear them pleasing. I wondered faintly who it was. I was on my knees, I could feel my hair between my fingers and the dull ache at my skull. I suddenly realized I was pulling my hair. And I could feel blood trickling down my chin. And then I recognized the pleading voice.

 

It was mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I wouldn't be at all mad if you dropped a comment down there. Not even a little bit. ;)


	6. Chapter 5

Mr. Sam and Mr. Dean suddenly fell silent. The only sound to be heard was my soft pleading and choking sobs. Mr. Dean shot a glare at Mr. Sam and rushed to my side, crouching down till we were on the same level.

 

“You okay?”

 

My breath came in rapid gasps, struggling to slow it to a normal pace, I nodded. I wasn’t okay, I was shaking, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but that’s not what Mr. Dean wanted to hear.

 

“Layla?” Mr. Dean reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder.

 

I flinched away at the touch, but when he didn’t immediately pull back, I leaned into it. He had been so nice to me, and the warm weight of his hands grounded me in a way I hadn’t known touch could.

 

“Are you good, Layla?” Mr. Dean repeated.

 

My breath hitched and I turned slowly toward Mr. Dean, gingerly raising my eyes to his face. He looked worried. My gaze flitted across his face and quickly dropped back to his chest. I hesitated only a moment longer before gingerly curling into his side and hiding my face on his shoulder. I was tense from head to toe and I felt as if my heart was about to beat out of my chest, but I didn’t pull away.

 

For a moment, Mr. Dean froze. Then his arm came up and wrapped carefully around me. A warm line across my back as he pulled me closer and tucked my head under his chin.

 

“It’s okay.” He murmured softly in my ear as I desperately clung to him, afraid that if I let go he might get rid of me.

 

For several long seconds, we stayed that that. Then Mr. Sam spoke.

 

“Is she okay?”

 

I tensed again, freezing in Mr. Dean’s arms. Mr. Sam scarred me. Even more then Mr. Dean did.

 

“Shh...” Mr. Dean’s hand was in my hair again, and I tried to relax back against him.

 

There was silence again as Mr. Dean stroked my hair. I let my eyes slide closed and just focused on the gentle weight of his hand in my hair. After a minute or so, Mr. Dean broke the silence again.

 

“Layla?” He said, “You feeling better?”

 

I wanted to say no, hoping that maybe he would keep holding me. Keep me tucked in close to him and keep touching my hair and that gentle way. But truthfully, I did feel better, and I was pretty sure Mr. Dean didn’t want to keep touching me so I pulled away, nodding and directing my gaze back to the floor.

 

“Good.” Mr. Dean let me go, standing up and turning toward Mr. Sam.

 

I folded my hands in my lap and tried not to think about anything. Mr. Dean was muttering to Mr. Sam, but I didn’t bother trying to listen. I just knelt there in my own little world and tried not to feeling anything at all. Not fear or hunger or despair. Not the cold line across my back where Mr. Dean’s arm had rested. Nothing at all. I just stared at my hands and waited.

 

“Layla?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Dean?” I replied softly.

 

“You want some supper?” He asked, holding out a hand to me.

 

After a second, I reached out, placing my hand in his and allowing him to pull me to my feet. I followed him to the table and was just sinking to my knees when his hand on my arm stopped me.

 

“Take the chair.”

 

I froze. Sit in a chair? But I was a slave. I was his slave. Slave’s didn’t sit in chairs.

 

“Mr. Dean?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I cringed at the questioning tone.

 

Mr. Dean pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. Carefully and with no small amount of nervousness, I settled onto the edge of the seat.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Dean,” I said.

 

“Yeah, well, soup’s on so, let’s eat.”

 

He dropped into the chair next to me and pulled the paper sack he had brought toward him.

 

“Take a shower, Sammy.” Mr. Dean said without looking up from where he was pulling out white boxes from which delicious smells were wafting. “You stink.

 

“Right, yeah...I’ll go...do that.” Mr. Sam hurried into the bathroom, leaving me alone with Mr. Dean.

 

“So, here we go. Burger and fries, nothin’ better.”

 

He set one of the boxes in front of me, flipping the lid open. My mouth dropped open as the large sandwich was pushed toward me, accompanied by a pile of golden brown fries. My mouth was watering from the smell alone and I clenched my fingers into my borrowed sweatpants to keep from digging into the bounty laid before me.

 

Mr. Dean picked up his burger, sinking his teeth into it with a moan that made me blush and look down at my lap.

 

“Dig in.” He said around a mouthful. “That’s for you so eat up.”

 

I waited only a moment longer. I had permission, and I was so hungry. Throwing caution into the wind, I picked up the burger and sank my teeth into the delicious piece of food, letting slip a moan to rival Mr. Dean’s.

 

“That’s the spirit.” He said and we fell to with gusto.

 

Silence reigned as the two of us ate heartily. The only sound was the steady hum of the shower and the contented sighs of the two of us enjoying a wonderful meal. As I worked my way through the food, I tried not to think of what I might have to pay for this meal.

 

All to soon the food was gone. I sat there silently, watching as Mr. Dean finished his fries and fiddling with a napkin beneath the table. The shower shut off and the room was suddenly cloaked in uncomfortable silence. I ducked my head, tearing at the napkin.

 

The door to the bathroom opened with a seemingly deafening squeak and Mr. Sam stepped out in a cloud of steam. His damp hair hung limply on his shoulders. His worn jeans sat low on his hips, and his shirt was draped over one arm. Mr. Dean barely glanced up from his food. I took one look and curled in on myself, my fingers reducing the napkin to shreds.

 

"Sam." Mr. Dean said around the last of his fries. "Put a shirt on."

 

Mr. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled the garment over his head.

 

“Did you get me any?" He said, gesturing at the remnants of the meal.

 

My stomach dropped. Mr. Sam hadn't eaten and I had. Shaking slightly, I slipped from the chair, falling to my knees beside it. He would be mad. I knew he would. I ducked my head and tightened my hands on my thighs, waiting.

 

There was silence for a long moment. Mr. Sam was the first to speak.

 

"Dean." He said. "What happened?"

 

 

Mr. Dean didn't reply. I bit my lip, the spike of pain calming my churning mind for a moment.

 

"Layla?" Mr. Dean's gentle voice seemed so soothing in the tense silence. "You okay, Layla?"

 

After a moment of silence, I nodded. No, I wasn't alright, but Mr. Dean wanted me to be alright, anyone could see that, so I just nodded. Besides, Mr. Sam wouldn't want Mr. Dean to waste his time on a broken, useless slave. If he thought I was more hassle then I was worth...I shuddered and dug my teeth into the tender flesh of my cheek. I couldn't think about that, I need to focus on being good. I had to be good, nothing else mattered now.

 

"Are you sure?" Mr. Sam was the one to speak this time.

 

I flinched and then froze.

 

Shit.

 

Mr. Dean didn't like it when I was afraid. God, I just couldn't keep from messing up, could I? Stupid, useless...I twisted my fingers into my hair, pulling again and hunching forward over my knees.

 

"Layla?" Mr. Dean spoke again, and this time he was right next to me.

 

I curled tighter, he would be mad. He didn’t want me to pull my hair. I need to stop. I had to be good. I wanted to be good, but my fingers wouldn’t listen.

 

"Layla?" Mr. Sam spoke.

 

I flinched away from him, turning to Mr. Dean for a moment before catching myself. I didn't want Mr. Sam to think I was using Mr. Dean to get out of punishment for eating dinner while he was still hungry. Taking a deep breath I pulled away from the comfort of Mr. Dean's warm frame and toward Mr. Sam. He stood just a few steps away, towering over me.

 

"I'm sorry Mr. Sam," I said and pressed my forehead to the carpet.

 

Once again there was a long moment of silence.

 

"What?" Mr. Sam's voice came from above me, laced with anger.

 

I cowered before him. What had I done now? I had apologized. I didn't expect him to just let it go but why had that made him angrier? Then I remembered

 

Shit.

 

__Shit._ _

 

What was I? Stupid? He had told me to address him as ‘Sam’ and here I was like an idiot, calling him ‘Mr. Sam’ after he had told me not to!. Oh, for goodness sake. I was useless after all.

 

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to disobey you. I won't do it again, Sam. I'm sorry." I quickly tried to correct my mistake, but I knew it was already too late.

 

The damage was done. Mr. Sam was mad at me, and my mumbled apologies wouldn't stave off the punishment I was sure was coming.

 

"Sam." Mr. Dean's voice was cold and emotionless. "Why don't you go out and grab yourself some dinner."

 

"Right," Sam said, and quickly turned away.

 

I didn't move from my position on the floor. The door closed behind Sam, but I stayed where I was. Mr. Dena hadn't sounded happy, and an unhappy master had never meant good things for me. My fingers found their way back to my hair. Mr. Dean shifted behind me and a strangled whimper tore its way from my throat.

 

"Shh...it's alright, Layla." He murmured soothingly. "I've got you."

 

His warm arm crept around my shoulder and he gently pulled me to him, holding me against him and rocking slightly from side to side.

 

"I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pie makes me happy. But if I can't get that, I'll settle for a comment or two. ;) xD


End file.
